


goodnight sweet prince (and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest)

by emynn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I just couldn't resist the Hamlet allusion, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), all author roasting her favorite disaster demon in love, also I promise despite the title Crowley is very much alive, he just needs a very long nap, part Aziraphale being soft gentle tender kindheart, part Crowley being emo angst king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: “We’re safe now, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You said so yourself. They’ll leave us alone for a while. I’d say we have at least a few centuries. Why not get some rest?”Crowley bit the insides of his cheeks. How was he supposed to convey that it was no longer the forces of Heaven or Hell that concerned him, but rather the forces of his own heart?





	goodnight sweet prince (and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest)

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land…_

* * *

It was not a faraway land. It was a very right here land, the same right here land that Crowley had lived in for the last several centuries. And he knew every bloody of inch of it. The thirty-four steps it took to cross from the front door to his desk. How the light streamed in from his office windows at each hour of the day. That one irritating spot on the floor where Ligur had dissolved and that Crowley couldn’t magic away, no matter how hard he tried.

With an irritated hiss, Crowley slammed his bottle of whiskey down on his desk. It knocked over the small philodendron he’d purchased that morning in a half-hearted attempt to bring about some peace and normalcy to his routine. The ceramic pot it was in shattered upon impact; Crowley deliberately bore down on the terracotta shards as he crossed the room to the toilet, gaining a modicum of satisfaction at the _crunch_ beneath his snakeskin boot. 

* * *

_There lived a… well, let’s call him a young prince. Yes, a handsome young prince._

* * * 

Crowley turned the faucet on full blast and splashed the ice cold water on his face. He hadn’t truly expected it would help, and it most certainly did not. But it did twist his hair into soggy ringlets that fell across his face like half-dead snakes making one last feeble attempt at vitality.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He looked old. Not six thousand years old. _Human_ old. Like what a six thousand year old human would look like.

With slightly better hair.

Snake corpses notwithstanding. 

* * * 

_And he lived all alone, in his own private kingdom. Far away from prying eyes. He liked it that way. He felt safe. Comfortable. He could be himself, without yielding to the expectations of others._

* * * 

It was too quiet. That was obviously the problem. How was he supposed to _sleep_ when it was silent as a tomb in here?

He flipped on the telly.

“Is it the end of the world as we know it?”

“I should bloody well say not,” Crowley muttered, and waved his hand to change the channel.

_“SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYEEEEEE.”_

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.” With another hand wave, this one with far more snap to the wrist, Crowley flicked the telly off and sprawled across his chair.

It was pathetic, really. There was no need for… this. For _any_ of this.

He didn’t need anyone. He was fine. He just needed to get out of his head for a minute, and all would be well.

“Crowley? Are you there?” 

* * * 

_This prince did not let anybody into his palace._

* * * 

Crowley threw his hand in the air. 

* * *

_Not willingly, anyway._

* * *

“Come in,” Crowley said, as the door swung open. 

* * * 

_Except for one. Another prince, from another kingdom, even **farther** away. A rival kingdom, of sorts. Well, they really shouldn’t have been rivals, but that’s a story for another night._

* * *

Aziraphale entered the room, and it became a little easier to breathe.

Crowley tried not to notice.

“My dear, you haven’t answered your phone in three days,” Aziraphale said. “I was worried.”

“I’ve been very busy,” Crowley said. “Temptations and whatnot. Sin. Schemes. Murder.”

“Hmm, yes, I can see that.” Aziraphale crouched down over the fallen plant and with an elaborate flick of his fingers, it was back in its pot. He set it gently down on Crowley’s desk and gave one of its leaves a friendly pat. “Very menacing." 

* * *

_My point is, they were friends._

* * *

They were silent for an uncomfortably long moment. Crowley could feel a muscle twitch in his brow. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he suddenly miracled up a grandfather clock to sit in the corner, so at least the steady _tick tock_ would fill this utter void of noise.

He decided against it. Grandfather clocks did not suit the aesthetic.

They’d never been like this. Not even once. From the very beginning, when Crowley had been Crawly, when he was just a snake in the desert slithering up to an angel he felt drawn to in a way he couldn’t quite explain… they’d always had _something_ to say to each other.

Crowley ignored the irritating voice in his head pointing out it was because he didn’t want to _talk_ right now so much as use another one of his earthly senses.

“Crowley, are you… are you certain you’re all right?” 

* * *

_More than friends, if they were being truthful._

* * *

“Never better,” Crowley lied. “We thwarted the apocalypse, after all. No more annoying paperwork. Wahoo.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “That we did. But, Crowley… have you gotten any rest?”

Crowley swung his legs over the arm of the chair and stood up. “I don’t need rest. I’m still a bloody demon. I’ve gone nearly a century without so much as a snooze before.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Yes, but you also once _slept_ for nearly a century because I --”

Crowley arched an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” Aziraphale said quickly. “But the point is, you held your burning Bentley together by the sheer power of your mind all the way to Tadfield. That had to deplete your energy source to dangerously low levels. I'm amazed you haven't spontaneously discorporated yet.”

Crowley shrugged. “Never better, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him, and Crowley fought the urge to shrink back. He was suddenly very aware he hadn’t put on his sunglasses before allowing Aziraphale in, and he felt horrifically exposed. It didn’t help matters that Aziraphale was so _still_. Crowley was used to him bouncing around, revealing the barest flicker of an emotion with the subtlety of a foghorn. But the way he looked at Crowley now…

It was one of the few times in six thousand years Crowley had been deeply reminded of Aziraphale’s power.

And how effortlessly he could utterly crush him. 

* * *

_But they could never share how they truly felt about each other. Because if their kingdoms found out… they would make sure the princes did not survive._

* * *

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Aziraphale said. “What is it?”

“Oh, suddenly we’re telling each other everything?” Crowley snapped, not meaning it at all but willing to use all the weapons in his arsenal. “You think because you inhabited my body for a few hours you have the right to know all that’s going on inside my mind?”

“Of course not. It’s only… you don’t look like yourself, my dear. I want to help.”

Crowley shook his head. “There’s nothing to be done, angel.” 

* * *

_It was far too dangerous._

* * *

“We’re safe now, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You said so yourself. They’ll leave us alone for a while. I’d say we have at least a few centuries. Why not get some rest?”

Crowley bit the insides of his cheeks. How was he supposed to convey that it was no longer the forces of Heaven or Hell that concerned him, but rather the forces of his own heart?

How was he supposed to share that, when the threat of Armageddon was upon them, he wasn’t roaring at the chance for battle like a good little demon, or attempting to thwart it like a traitorous but still more-or-less low-grade evil-causing demon, but rather reeling from the raw emptiness of the thought of never seeing Aziraphale again?

Entirely human emotions, compounded by thousands upon thousands of years together. That was a phenomenon that wasn’t meant to exist.

Angels and demons view humans on earth as parts of a whole, a collection of chess pieces to be captured one by one, until enough are amassed so victory can be proclaimed.

In a way, Crowley was the same. He’d spent six millennia on earth, soaking up the best and worst of humanity. Only it wasn’t victory he sought; it was completion. And among the madness and messiness of earth, he’d found an environment that felt more like a home to him than Heaven or Hell ever had.

But it was only Aziraphale who filled up the whole of him. 

* * *

_It wasn’t just that the princes wanted to save their own skins. They couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to the other._

* * *

“Exactly,” Crowley said. “We’re safe now. No one’s going to come for either of us.”

His voice caught oddly in his throat on the last word. He tried to disguise it with a cough, but given how demons generally don’t need to cough, especially not in a room that is set to be the optimal temperature at all times and contains no possible irritants, other than the ones in Crowley’s mind causing him to have this heaven-forsaken conversation, he knew Aziraphale saw right through it. But it did afford him a modicum of dignity.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, “are you --” 

* * *

_And so they hid._

* * *

“If you say afraid, I’ll have this entire building blasting the be-boppiest of be-bop in two seconds,” Crowley said. Grabbing his plant mister, he stalked out of the room.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale said, following him.

Crowley froze. Did he…

“I daresay I’ve never met anyone else as brave as you, my dear boy.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, and began to wreak watery havoc on his plants.

“I only think if perhaps you got a bit of rest, you might --” 

* * *

_The first prince tried to run. Over and over. But there was no place to go._

* * * 

“I _can’t_ rest, Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped. “I can’t rest because when I close my eyes, I see your bloody bookshop on fire. And if I’m lucky, I don’t find you, and I get to imagine how you may have simply discorporated and while I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, you’re probably fine, just being tortured by some, well, it could be angels, it could be demons, or, oh, I know! It could be both! Sure, why not both?”

It was abnormally quiet again, so bloody still, that Crowley was acutely aware of his great, gaping breaths, of how his words were growing faster as his voice was growing louder, but the dam had burst, and there was no stopping it.

“But that’s the better version, because at least then I know what I’m up against, and I could still have a shot, maybe. Because then there are other times, _other_ times, where I’m lucky enough to come across your body! Because you see, you see, Aziraphale?” He laughed, the type of laugh he expected most humans would expect to hear come from a demon’s lips, unhinged and entirely humorless. “They made you _mortal_. Isn’t that hilarious? So _whoosh_! Whole bloody shop goes up in flames, and you get taken along with it. Forever.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.

“But then there are other times when there’s no fire,” Crowley said. “And you’d think, you’d think that would mean I might _finally_ get some rest. But of _course_ not! Because then I see you, and you’re right there, but you’re not _really_ there. You’re like a ghost. And I want to… I want to touch you, to make sure you’re really there, but I can’t, I _can’t_.

“And I’m so tired, Aziraphale, I’m so… _empty_ , I know if I lie down it’ll be for a thousand years, a thousand years of _that_ , and nothing will wake me, and I can’t. I can’t.” 

* * *

_The second prince tried to play by the rules. He thought he could get his kingdom to see there could be peace. He hid in his loyalties and his faith. But it turns out his loyalty had been to a ghost. A ghost of a hope. And when it vanished he had nothing left. Nothing, except for his prince._

* * * 

“Oh, my dear, my… Crowley.”

Crowley leaned over the table, his arms taut, his chest heaving. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I hadn’t realized…” He sighed. “I didn’t even know we were capable of nightmares.”

It was absurd, it was so completely fucking absurd, that Crowley barked out a harsh laugh. “Just a fun side effect of going native, eh? Isn’t humanity grand?”

Aziraphale said nothing, but Crowley could hear him moving closer. An odd ringing sound reverberated in his ears. Oh, for God’s sake, he couldn’t believe he’d actually done that, that he had _said_ all those humiliating things out loud. He clutched the edges of the table until his knuckles turned white, wondering if there was any possible way he could back out of this. 

* * *

_But it was too late. The kingdoms discovered the princes’ secret._

* * *

“Crowley. Crowley, I’m here.”

“I know you’re _here_ , you’ve been talking at me for twenty bloody minutes.”

“No,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley heard him move closer.

And then…

There was a hand on his. 

* * *

_Of course, their sides were both furious. All of the princes’ nightmares seemed to be coming true, in the most terrifying of fashions. And then the thing they feared the most came to pass: they were separated._

* * *

“I’m here,” Aziraphale repeated. “And you can… touch or feel or… whatever you may like.”

Crowley stared down at Aziraphale’s hand. It was barely touching his own; in fact, upon Crowley’s close inspection, he had reason to believe it was actually only hovering overtop of his fingers.

And yet Crowley was suddenly strongly reminded of creating all the stars of the universe, of how when he’d delightedly blend together those clouds of gas with that indomitable force of gravity, how the gas so desperately wanted to dissipate like smoke in the wind, but the gravity would force it together, crunching down, pulling more and more of that helpless gas cloud in, growing denser and denser, hotter and hotter, until, at last, a single perfect glittering star was born.

That’s what touching Aziraphale felt like.

It was terrifying in its power.

And it was exquisite. 

* * *

_But the princes were determined, and they were brave. There was simply too much at stake. So they fought back._

* * *

Crowley drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Aziraphale’s.

“Are you sure?” he asked, still not looking away from their hands.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said without hesitation. “I would never offer if I didn’t mean it.”

Nodding, Crowley reluctantly released Aziraphale’s hand so he could turn to face his friend.

There he was. Aziraphale. The same cloud of white blond hair, the same kind blue eyes framed by deep laugh lines. Clad in his usual tan and tartan, looking every bit the proper gentleman. There was no one who knew Crowley better.

It was so utterly familiar. 

* * *

_But it felt different, once they had returned to their respective palaces. Now that they were free._

* * *

Crowley set his fingertips on Aziraphale’s temples, as lightly as Aziraphale had touched him earlier, and slowly drew them down his face. He took note of each line and crevice, each indentation of skin, the curve of his mouth, the softness of his earlobes, the bump of his chin. Were he an artist, he could have drawn Aziraphale perfectly, down to the very last detail, the very last freckle on his neck, even if he had gone a thousand years without seeing him. But now with those very features beneath his fingers, it was exploring something entirely new and magnificent.

He brushed his hands downward, down to Aziraphale’s chest, pausing where his heart was. Angels, of course, had no true need of hearts, or really any bodily organs, but when living among humans for so long, one tended to pick up these eccentricities. Crowley was exceptionally grateful for it at the moment, and took his time lingering there, feeling the steady beat beneath his hands.

There was more he wanted to explore, _so_ much more, but these soft touches alone were threatening to undo him. He had to go slowly.

But…

He was here. As he always was. As Crowley dared to hope he always would be.

“Aziraphale,” he said. It came out a sob. This time he didn’t care.

Crowley buried his face in the curve of Aziraphale’s neck, the hot tears streaking down his cheeks staining the fabric of his coat. His touches were no longer gentle. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale tightly, drawing him in as close as he could. 

* * *

_The first prince dreamed of flames._

* * *

And when Aziraphale pulled his arms around him, first dragging his hands in soothing caresses down his back, then more desperately clawing at the back of Crowley’s shirt, fingers digging in as though he was trying to grapple his way inside of him, the memory of fire slowly died away. 

* * *

_The second prince... dreamed of emptiness._

* * *

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale whispered. “Holding you feels so… complete.”

Crowley made a noise, and it may have been a word, or even the start of a rather brilliant sentence articulating just _how_ complete it all felt, but it was lost to the waves of their quiet sobs. 

* * *

_Neither of them could quite say what was wrong._

* * *

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said. One of his hands was in Crowley’s hair, half stroking, half pulling at it. Whatever it was, he seemed desperate to bury himself within it. “I should have… I never… we could…”

Crowley wanted to comfort him, to offer him reassurances, that he understood, that it didn’t matter any longer, that they had survived, and they were here, and he _knew_ it, he could _feel_ how very alive they were, how very _together_. But all he could manage was to miraculously hold Aziraphale even closer.

Somehow, he rather thought that got the point across. 

* * *

_They were free now, but they’d been in these habits for so long… it was hard to break._

* * *

Being wrapped up in Aziraphale’s embrace felt so easy. Crowley wanted to melt into his softness. He had a suspicion that would be easy, too.

It was so hard to fathom. Millennium upon millennium of dancing around each other, avoiding any and all physical contact… it all seemed so reasonable at the time. A safety precaution. Plausible deniability.

Not to mention the matter of Aziraphale’s steadfast denial that what they shared was anything more than mere “fraternization.”

But now, all those barriers had melted it away. There was nothing standing between them any longer. 

* * *

_But one day the second prince decided enough was enough, and he traveled to his prince’s palace._

* * *

“There, my dear,” Aziraphale said, sniffling. “Does this ease some of your discomfort?”

Crowley nodded. Then, realizing Aziraphale couldn’t see his head, given how it was still nestled into his shoulder, he said “yes.” However, again, given how his head was still nestled into his shoulder, it came out more as “yemph.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I wish I had known. I would have come by earlier. I only thought you needed your space. There was no need for you to suffer like this for days.”

“I‘m sorry,” Crowley said, and, with a colossal amount of effort, raised his head. An unpleasant whiff followed him. “Urgh, I stink. And I got your jacket all wet and wrinkled. I can miracle it right up.” 

* * *

_His prince was a sight to behold. Tired, drawn, pale._

* * *

“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale said. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and delicately dabbed at Crowley’s cheeks. A familiar tickle swept over Crowley’s entire body as he pulled the handkerchief away; he’d been miraculously cleaned. “Don’t you fret.”

The primal need to hold Aziraphale close had passed, but Crowley was still not remotely inclined to let him go. “Thank you,” he said, and squeezed his arm. “I’m… grateful.”

Aziraphale gave him the softest of smiles. “And I, I suspect… am yours.” 

* * *

_He’d been awake for so long. Not just his body, but his soul. On guard. Prepared for attack._

* * *

Crowley shook his head, attempting to come to his senses. He wracked his brain for a witty reply, something to make him seem worthy of such a proclamation, but his clever retorts had all gone to rest without him. “Right,” he managed, quite proud of himself for managing to at least get that out. “Erm, same. Yours.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crowley’s waist. “Good. Now, come along. Let’s get you taken care of.” 

* * *

_He needed rest._

* * *

Aziraphale led Crowley to his bedroom. Crowley didn’t fight when Aziraphale gently pushed him to the bed, nor when he kneeled to remove his boots. So calming were Aziraphale’s touches that Crowley didn’t even raise an eyebrow when the angel, blushing, suggested removing Crowley’s jeans so he’d be more comfortable.

But as soon as Aziraphale sat beside him on the bed and moved to cover him with the duvet, the old panic began to worm its way into Crowley’s chest.

“Wait,” Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale’s wrist. “I still… I still might… what if I don’t wake up?” 

Aziraphale paused for the briefest of moments, then bent over to remove his own shoes.

* * *

_**THEY** needed rest._

* * *

“I’ll stay with you,” Aziraphale said, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Right by your side. And I’ll wake you the very second I notice any signs of distress. I promise.”

“Even if I have to sleep for a thousand years?” Crowley asked.

“Even then,” Aziraphale said. He quickly stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, and set his clothing down on a nearby chair. Then he slid into bed next to Crowley and pulled the duvet over them. 

* * *

_So our second prince slipped his hand into the first’s._

* * *

Lying here in bed with Aziraphale pressed behind him, their fingers laced together... it should have been enough to set all of Crowley’s nerves on fire. And perhaps he’d wake up in a decade or two, and realize the position they were in, and immediately burst forth with a new explosion of energy and a million questions about what this was, and what they were doing, and what exactly they hoped to achieve.

But for now, he was content to just be. 

* * *

_They curled up around each other, safe in each other’s arms._

* * *

It was warm, and comforting, and if this was what eternity had in store for them, Crowley would finally consider himself blessed. 

* * *

_It was magic. The touch awakened them. So much so they couldn’t believe they hadn’t been doing this all along._

* * *

Crowley closed his eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he whispered. 

* * *

_But it didn’t matter now._

* * *

“My love,” Aziraphale responded, just as soft. “Shall I tell you a bedtime story? To help you sleep?” 

* * * 

_For the first time in six millennia, they were at peace._

* * * 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hand to his chest. “Please,” he said, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s wrist. 

* * * 

_They were together._

* * * 

Aziraphale gave his hand a squeeze, and when he spoke, his breath washed over Crowley’s face like a caress. 

* * * 

_And they slept._

* * *

“Once upon a time,” Aziraphale said, “in a faraway land…” 

* * * 

_And they lived happily ever after._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was my first Good Omens fic and I love them dearly and have more planned for them, so please let me know your thoughts. If you'd like to scream with me about Crowley and Aziraphale's eternal love, you can also find me over on Tumblr at [xoxoemynn](http://xoxoemynn.tumblr.com).


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